


The Darkest Night

by flipperbrain



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Violence, Captain Swan Supernatural Summer, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Stabbing, Vampire Turning, brothers jones mention, character death mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipperbrain/pseuds/flipperbrain
Summary: Killian is left for dead in an alley and things get fangy.





	1. Chapter 1

What a ridiculous twist of fate. Had he gone on with his mates to the brothel following their evening of carousing at the pub, he might be cozy and warm in the bed of some wench and not here, dying on the damp cobblestones. He licks his lips to no avail, his mouth is so dry he cannot muster enough moisture to wet them. Another wave of pain and nausea washes over, he grimaces and clenches his jaw fighting against the urge to vomit; lying near death in a pool of blood is already a grotesque punishment, adding his own sick to the gore would be an insult to injury indeed.

He struggles to lift his head and peers into the darkness toward the lighted opening at the end of the alleyway but sees no one pass, in the wee hours of the morning few decent folk are about, especially in this part of town. His hand clutches his side, sticky with the blood that pours onto the street; he had tried at first to staunch the flow with pressure but it was no use, his fingers still tightly grip only as a reflex. His entire person is tense with hurt and the fear of what comes next, if anything at all; perhaps a blissful blackness is all that awaits and not the fires of hell that many foes have wished upon him.

The smell of food scraps and trash threaten to make his stomach turn again. Some son of bitch with an old axe to grind left him to die next to a pile of rubbish. He grins darkly at that, it is fitting he supposes, to leave this world on a garbage heap. The final joke is on him.

He coughs and his mouth fills with blood, it spills out over his lips and runs down the side of his face. At least his parched mouth has been wetted he muses, then turns his head to spit out the rest onto the alley floor.

\----------------

He looks up at the stars, dimmed by the lights of the city, and thinks about his brother taking his last breath in his arms. His body convulsing against him then rigid in the throes of death, and wonders at the pain he endured… and what  _his_  final breath will feel like. Liam’s face was peaceful as he sewed the last stitches of his shroud, closing the edges of the fabric that covered him forever. 

The only evidence to his cause of death were the black vein-like streaks that the Dreamshade left behind. He had allowed no one else to tend the body of his hero, his Captain and his only remaining real family on earth. He remembers brushing a curl aside, then pressing one last kiss to his cold forehead before giving him to the sea. A tear rolls down his cheek at that memory, as vivid today as the tragic day it occurred.

Pride goeth before the fall.

Recklessness and bravado, a trait both brothers shared at times, and now he reaps what he has sown. He does not remember the man who killed him or what he had done to deserve it, but he smiled as he stabbed him again and again while another man unseen twisted his arms behind his back. It is irksome that he does not recall a deed so serious to be murdered over, he has done much damage in his life of which vile memories still plague him, at least if it were in response to one of his more vicious acts he could be at peace with his own demise.

But this grinning toothless thug who forced him onto his knees… he has wracked his brain with no recollection. To him it must have been grievous enough he supposes, the man grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back as if he planned to cut his throat for good measure. Perhaps the brute lost his nerve and he shoved him down against the wall instead, then spat in his direction. He got up and staggered a few steps then crawled on all fours as far as he could leaving a slick trail of crimson behind.

He cried out for help but no one came, though he was unsurprised; not many within earshot of a homicide would be so courageous as to interfere and risk their own life, not for the likes of him at any rate. He raises his hand and looks at his fingers, thick clots have formed between them and around his rings, begotten by the shedding of blood and now drenched with his. It is too late for a remedy, the dead will be avenged.

He is cold to the bone, his breath whistles in and out through chattering teeth as he studies the sky, Orion is watching over him. The corners of his mouth form a tiny smile, his eyelids flutter closed and he waits for the end to come.

—————————

Her cloak flaps behind her as she darts from shadow to shadow moving like a cat, lithe and agile but with unnatural speed. Her sharp senses detect movement in the darkness. She steals silently through the alleyway in search of animal prey but finds a man lying against the bricks covered in his own blood. She kneels beside him and throws back her hood to examine his face in the moonlight, curious how this handsome man came to such an end. She stopped feeding from humans for survival a century ago, but his warm skin and the blood on his mouth are so tempting. Her eyes glance furtively to the left and to the right… just a taste...

—————————

Killian stirs at the touch of her lips and opens his eyes enough to see her face looming above his, skin so pale and bloodless it is nearly white but strangely translucent, with an intricate latticework of blue veins just below the surface. The blondest tresses frame her countenance in a flowing cloud of light, large green eyes stare back at him startled that he still lives. 

Though her mouth is stained red with his blood, he is too weak to be afraid and is instead comforted by her peculiar presence in his final minutes; standing at the precipice of death yet still fascinated... no, mesmerized by this bizarre angelic vision. She reaches out to stroke his cheek, her delicate fingers are cool on his skin, soothing him as he grits his teeth against the pain of his injuries.

“What is your name?” She asks, as her fingers comb through his hair.

“Killian, Killian Jones” he wheezes

Her eyes scan his face, he IS glorious. Sublime lips, a magnificent jaw, expressive brows arching over azure eyes haunted with loss and regret… but the color of his skin is ashen. She has seen this look too many times in the past, he will not survive long without her help; it is frankly surprising that he still breathes at all. 

She sighs heavily, loathe to subject another to the consequences of her aid and turns away to think about what to do. This life such as it is, is difficult and not all adapt to it well. There are responsibilities that come with turning a human and much to learn if they are to survive, she cannot be party to an indiscriminate monster; the last of her progeny did not end well…

But she feels sympathy for this man and an inexplicable longing, his beauty notwithstanding. She sees such depth of feeling in his face, the tragedy of vanished potential and an irrational sense that he is a good man though she knows absolutely nothing of him. She so wishes for a companion to share the night, and the chance for love once again. Emotions that she thought were lost to her a long time ago spark anew, she is drawn to this stranger and in her loneliness she decides to give him a choice.

“Killian, I can save you…” she haltingly begins, “I can make you immortal, but cursed, like me...”

“… or, you can die here as a man and I will stay with you until it is over.” She says quietly

He is not quite sure who or what this enthralling creature is, but the numbness in his limbs creeps toward his chest and he knows he has little time to choose. His eyes close as he considers her words and the unknown future that she offers. He gulps then nods, the wretched truth is that he has nothing left to lose.

“I do not want to die,” he gasps

—————————

She gazes down at him seeing the frightened desperation carved into his features, he has made his decision and she will honor her promise but prays silently that he will still feel blessed when it is finished. She dips her head to his neck, her lips brushing his skin and kissing his warm flesh, salty from the exertions of the day. His masculine scent is intoxicating and she breathes him in, feeling his pulse thrumming faintly against her tongue.

His mouth hangs slack, relishing the sensation of her touch; he is suddenly aflame and tingling with anticipation, then shock and pain when her fangs pierce through his skin. His eyes open wide and he grips her arm as she sucks out the last of his life, her hand holds his head firmly in place with gentle but unyielding force, he cannot move away but oddly enough he does not want to. If this is a beginning or an end, so be it.

Increasingly light headed and euphoric, barely clinging to consciousness, he thinks to himself how extraodinarily arousing it is to feel his life’s blood drawn out through his veins, a vacuum pulling against every cell and fiber as it exits from his skin. The pounding in his ears grows louder as her lips work and move, his heart pumping wildly in a battle to survive until its rhythm gradually slows to an irregularly timed throb. 

She continues on for what seems to him like hours, but in reality she drains him in moments. He is breathless and hovering at the brink, and when she finally stops and her face moves back into his view, he watches as she bites her wrist then holds it over his lips.

“Drink.”

He recoils as her blood pours into his mouth and over his tongue, metallic tasting, bitter and thick. He swallows, shuddering with revulsion as it slides down his throat…

… and then a swift unbridled urge grows deep within him to quench this insatiable thirst, this ferocious hunger. He clamps his lips onto her wound, ravenous for the sweet nectar that flows out of her and spreads through him. He worships her wrist with his mouth, his tongue lapping against it with uncontrollable need, her lips are drawn back in pain and pleasure revealing sharp fangs coated scarlet with his blood. 

Her left hand rests against his chest, its fingers absently scratching through the thick pelt of hair between his breasts. He feels himself growing hard, his hand drifts along the curve of her hip then slides over her ribs to cup her breast, his thumb softly stroking her nipple as this new existence fills him.

She courses through his veins, her fragrance permeates his skin, he can feel her in his bones. She is a part of him… and he is a part of her.

—————————

She pulls her wrist away with a snarl, replacing it with her mouth, and they kiss with mindless abandon. Mouths sealed together, tongues licking and swirling like lovers together since the dawn of time. Her hands roam Killian’s body, sliding under his waistcoat then moving down to palm his thickness straining against his breeches, pale fingers deftly loosen the laces just enough to slip inside and take him in hand and stroke to the tip of him. It has been so long since she has held a man and felt him arching into her with such passion and want. His guttural sounds of pleasure are like music.

His fingers tangle in her hair and press the back of her head crushing their lips together, he cannot get close enough and tilts his head to dive deeper. She bites down hard, puncturing his tongue as it probes and glides against hers, and he moans into her mouth as she drinks him. Consumes him. Nothing exists but the two of them locked together in the dark.

She is nearly overcome but they must leave this place. She holds his face in her hands and coaxes him back down to earth, her lips drifting tenderly back and forth across his.

When he opens his eyes the pain is gone and his world is changed, he sees everything in astonishing color and minute detail. He feels powerful and virile and he yearns for her, aches to push himself inside her, his lover… his savior. He is entranced by the texture of her skin, hypnotized by the color of her eyes and overwhelmed with a feeling of completeness that he has never experienced before, he cannot stop himself from tracing her lips with his tongue; just one last taste before she moves away.

“I would generally ask before sharing such an intimate moment, but alas I was mortally wounded and forgot my manners. Pray forgive my lapse and tell me thy name?” Killian murmurs coyly.

She smiles against his mouth, "It is Emma Swan, and you are most certainly forgiven," she softly replies, then takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. His bloodlust is quelled for now, tomorrow will surely test his true mettle but she has faith that his will is strong enough.

"Emma Swan," he sighs then throws back his head, sniffs the air and smiles brilliantly at Orion, his guardian above.

 _I was nearly expiring--'twas close of the day,--_  
_A demon advanced to the bed where I lay,_  
_He gave me the power from whence I was hurled,  
_ _To return to revenge, to return to the world_

Killian quietly recites the passage from memory then adds, “ _She_  gave me the power to return to the world, my beautiful demon swan,” he laughs, “As for revenge, that is finished. I do suspect many challenging obstacles lie ahead in my future,” he continues, running his tongue over his newly extended canine teeth. “But I _will_ have one... and I would be at your side?”

She smiles shyly at his words, he is even more stunning now than she thought possible; a profile chiseled in alabaster against the night sky, his lips as red as wine. Emma's body trembles with desire, thrilled and impatient to reach the safety of her lair, she tugs his sleeve and gazes at him. And with the first glimmer of hope she has felt in two hundred years shining in her eyes she whispers, “Come with me Killian, the sun will rise soon.”

*Excerpt from  _Revenge_  by Percy Bysshe Shelley


	2. Growing pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian discovers a new world and spends his first day in Emma's lair.

Killian is astounded by his fleetness of foot as they race through the streets toward safe harbor, his senses assaulted by smells and sounds he veers away from Emma for a moment, only a small detour to chase the path of a firefly, but in a flash he is gone. Emma rolls her eyes and charges after him, she can feel his essence now and it takes some searching but she eventually finds him crouched near a decorative iron gate. The bug forgotten, he is in a trance, his eyes moving over the scrollwork scrutinizing its surface texture and every fleck of rust at a near molecular level.

Emma only vaguely remembers the days following her change, but she has known more than a few fledglings since, some of her own making. Their vampire sight and sense can be extremely captivating, so much so that one can easily become lost; lured by the novelty and the keenness of it, they can forget themselves whilst spellbound over the most common of objects.

“Killian!” Emma pleads, “We must hurry, come away from there! My lair is close by, there will be time for further contemplation tomorrow eve,” she says, exasperated but understanding. The simple beauty that surrounds them, unnoticed by the human eye, is an entirely new universe for Killian. He is awestruck by his acute vision and still not fully aware of the power he commands.

She had no one to aid her, her sire did not care and left her behind to fend for herself. She somehow survived on her wits and savagery alone and decided there and then, should she ever find herself in a similar circumstance she would teach those lessons she learned the hard way. Aside from her attraction to him and the passion they have already shared, she would not leave Killian even if she felt otherwise. And though she tells herself not to jump into the abyss so early in their relationship, in truth she does not know him yet, barely at all, but deeply rooted feelings persist and she is determined to pursue them.

He snaps from his reverie and turns his head to stare at her wide-eyed and innocent, like an errant youth being scolded for some infraction of the rules, but he looks her up and down, standing there with arms akimbo, and his grin rapidly turns wicked. He leaps to her side and pulls her against him, nuzzling her neck and nibbling her earlobe he murmurs, “Aye Swan, my apologies. This is a much more pleasurable distraction indeed.”

She laughs, pressing her forehead to his then pushes at his shoulder with her palm, ignoring the gooseflesh on her arms raised by touch of his lips, “Let us go!” She urges in a low voice, “I would have you safe before the sleep overtakes you and the sun turns you to ash! All of my efforts would be for naught,” she teases.

He nods solemnly and tilts his head with a boyish charm that turns her insides to liquid, and they dash off in a blur, traveling the last few blocks to her home in the blink of an eye. It is set apart from the rest of the houses at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, its Spanish-style architecture shrouded in shadow by a stand of oak trees. Cicadas buzz in the tall grass that separates the structure from a small pond, its waters sparkle and gleam in the moonlight. Emma sees his eyes focus on its shimmering surface and firmly grasps Killian’s sleeve before he can wander to inspect it, nudging him toward the front door instead.

————————

Once inside she stops to scribble a message on a sheet of stationery, then lights an oil lantern on the table in the vestibule, picks it up and takes Killian’s hand gesturing absently, “It is this way.” He trails after her to the stairs leading down to the wine cellar. Emma has lived in this house for many years, its location is private and perfect for a creature like herself. She supposes the neighbors wonder at her strange habits, but the inhabitants of this city rife with legends of ghosts and goblins, are accustomed to such things. A superstitious lot, most of them, she has not been trifled with even if they suspect her true nature.

She does not bother them and they leave her alone, though it may be time to move on to another of her properties at some time in the future. She has several residences, carefully scouted and outfitted to accommodate her special needs. She has acquired wealth throughout her long life, finding ways to survive without harming another human can be difficult enough, the desire is ever-present, a safe place to lay her head in the face of that is a must.

The light is not actually needed in order to navigate, vampires can see quite well in the darkest of night, and the cellar is black as pitch; but the glow soothes her, it warms the area and helps her to feel human and less like what she actually is. As they enter the space Emma closes the steel door behind them and turns the wheel, locking them inside until the sun sets again. It would take an army to gain entrance to this place, they are quite secure here.

She sets the lantern next to the large bed and moves to light another across the room. With the space now illuminated Killian looks about him, first glancing at the bed and leering discreetly at her, his eyes flit from the plush rug at his feet to the mahogany furniture; a fireplace on the far wall was added here at some expense to be sure, it is flanked by two comfortable looking leather chairs with a low table between. There is a tub and wash basin in the corner, a small vanity and mirror with Emma’s hairbrush, a vial of perfume and a porcelain swan figurine set upon on its ivory painted surface.

Emma turns to study him, watching him take in his surroundings for a moment before speaking but finally begins, “Let us get you out of those clothes, they are drenched with blood. _You_ are drenched with blood,” she says matter-of-factly. “I will find you something else to wear when we wake again, it cannot be helped, these are ruined.” She helps him out of his coat and tosses it into a large basket near the door and begins to work the buttons of his waistcoat and then his blouse; it is stuck to his skin with dried gore and she peels it away then up and off over his head.

She notices the growing bulge in his breeches and smiles to herself but there are other pressing matters to attend to, she yearns to be with him but it will have to wait, there is little time left before sunrise. He stands silently, aroused beyond belief at her treatment of him. He feels like an adolescent still discovering his own body, awkward and slightly embarrassed at being stripped naked by such a beautiful lass, it is not as though he has not found his way into the bed of a desirable woman, but Emma… _Emma_. She is different. She could be the one he has waited for, hoped for. That they should meet in such a way he could never have imagined, but they _have_ met and he is suddenly shy under her gaze.

He searches her face as she unties the laces of his pants loosened earlier at her hand, he closes his eyes and remembers her cool fingers upon him; he is hard as a rock and throbbing in want of her but his eyelids are increasingly heavy, he cannot shake this feeling of tiredness weighing on him try as he might. He steps out of his breeches and they follow the rest into the basket. Emma is taken aback by him, he is a magnificent man; muscled and fit and certainly quite well endowed, with a face so handsome she could lose herself forever in his eyes.

She leads him to the small tub, “Step inside Killian, let me wash away these stains before you lie down,” she says softly, she can see how drowsy he is and must hurry before his legs buckle beneath him. She often pushes the limits of the sleep, and can even stay conscious with much effort if she must, greatly weakened but alert if necessary, but it will take time for Killian to develop this skill.

She pours some water into the basin, “I am sorry, this will be a bit cold,” she says with regret then begins to rinse away the blood from his ribs, the wounds have healed but the marks remain. Her fingers glide over them with sympathy, so many cuts. The muscles in his abdomen contract as she cleans him, the cold water running down his body dampens his erection but it still stands out from his body, he is aching for release but exhausted beyond reckoning. “Turn around now Killian,” she says and he obediently complies, blood coats his back from where he lay, his hair is sticky with it and she does her best to remove the lion share before his repose. She will draw him a bath tomorrow eve, and thinks perhaps she will join him in it, but for now however, this will have to do.

She dries him with a soft towel and steers him to the bed then turns down the coverlet. He sits at the edge and looks up at her dully, his brows knit together with worry and confusion, “Lie down, you will feel better when you wake,” she whispers, he is disoriented and most likely in shock; he has endured much this day. Emma presses him back onto the pillows, pulls up the covers and bends to gently kiss his mouth. “All is well, rest now,” she coaxes and in a moment he is sleeping deeply, the sleep of the undead.

His face is so still and peaceful, pale and more sharply sculpted than it was before he turned. It is a disappointment that she will not feel his mouth upon her and she must suffer the wait, but it will be sweeter she suspects, he will be energized and vigorous after replenishing rest. She removes her clothing, throwing her tunic and trousers over a chair then ties a ribbon around her hair before extinguishing the lanterns and crawling into bed. She throws back the blanket enough to view the side of his body, the urge to touch herself is strong but she does not; his skin is perfect and luminous in the darkness, he has a striking form she muses then curls against him and closes her eyes.

————————

Emma is up for an hour before Killian rises, she dons a white silk robe and opens the door, lights a small fire in the fireplace and sits reading a book but not really absorbing the words. Her anticipation of being with him is so great it is all she can do not to rouse him before he is ready. Finally, when the hair on her neck stands up on end, she knows Killian’s eyes are upon her and she grins, glancing sideways at him as he kicks the blanket to the foot of the bed; he is obviously hungry in more ways than one. She is relieved that he so clearly wants her at this moment in spite if his thirst, especially knowing how strong it can be at the start. He has a stubbornness that may work in his favor, unwilling to allow even his own body to order him about.

She stands and turns to face him then slowly unties the sash on her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet but she does not move. “Take down your hair,” he murmurs and she pulls an end of the ribbon that holds it in place, loosing her long tresses to fall around her shoulders like a veil of gossamer. Killian holds out his arms, entreating her to come to him, “You are a vision Emma Swan,” he says quietly, his voice still raspy with sleep. She moves onto the bed and into his embrace.

And it feels like home.

“Drink from me Killian, it will sustain you until we hunt, I can see the need in your eyes,” she says softly.

Killian angles away at her words, “I cannot! I would not harm you Emma…”

“You will not harm me, I would not let you go so far… and I want you to.” She replies, brushing her hair from her neck and craning it slightly so he can easily access the large vein just below the surface of her skin. He licks his lips and looks at her again, his expression anxious but wanting “it is alright, do it,” she says firmly.

He pulls her closer, his lips drift along her collarbone, his tongue dips into the hollow of her throat then moves into position, baring his teeth he bites through her milky flesh until an arc of her blood pours into his mouth. Emma moans and wraps her fingers around his thickness and he nearly spills out on the spot at this erotic prologue to their joining. He is overcome with the sweetness of her and sucks eagerly until her fingers press against his chest to stop him; she shifts her weight rolling him onto his back, he is drunk and reeling with bliss.

Before he can recover she takes him in her mouth, her tongue swirling his silky flesh and dipping into the small slit at its tip. He groans and grabs handfuls of her hair as her lips work up and down his length, taking him completely he can feel himself bump against the back of her throat, his hips buck in sync with her rhythm he mewls and sighs gasping out her name. She stops and lifts her head, smiling at his wrecked expression and then he looks back at her with such raw vulnerability and openness, her eyes fill with tears.

“What is it my love?” He implores reaching for her and hugging her close, “We will stop! I am sorry for rushing into…”

“No Killian, I do not wish to stop! I am overwhelmed with happiness that you are here with me, that is all. Truly,” she answers sincerely, “I want you more than you know.”

He scans her face, his brows furrowed with concern but relents and leans to capture her lips, moving tenderly then parting, his tongue probes for entry and slips inside to meet hers. They explore each other tentatively, whilst gazing into the eyes of the other, as if this was their first kiss and filled with all of the wonder that comes with it. Connecting to another being in such an intimate way, the softness and the taste of their mouth eliciting the blush of love and affection; it is marvelous to share such a feeling with another. Their hands roam over each other as they continue, legs tangled together, their movements unhurried. Killian’s hand finds its way betwixt Emma’s legs, his fingers rubbing in languid circles then spreading her folds and dipping inside until she arches against him.

He breaks the kiss and moves to her neck, his lips skimming past the tiny puncture wounds that have already closed then gliding down to suckle her breast. He is in love with the sounds she makes, sighs and soft cries and throaty moans. His mouth works her nipple into a hard peak, his fingers slide in and out, slick with her wetness. She rolls onto her back and opens her thighs, longing to cradle him and he needs no further encouragement to maneuver between them; he guides himself to her entrance and eases inside, groaning at the exquisite pleasure of it, then begins to move in earnest.

Her fingertips trace the curve of his back and she wraps her legs around his waist as he thrusts into her, his ample size stretching and filling her up. There is urgency now, they are both desperate to finish; Killian’s hips swivel and grind, driving against her relentlessly while watching her face for signs of her release. When he feels her spasms ripple and clench around him, she pulls him down for a ravenous kiss, deep and delicious; then her lips drift to his shoulder and she sinks her teeth into the muscle, her tongue lapping the blood that spills from the wound.

He is startled by her bite, his body jolts in response but the sensation is an aphrodisiac; his hips jerk wildly, his stamina is seemingly limitless but his ability to stave off his orgasm is not. And when Emma dips her head to bite him again, this time into his breast, he can hold out no longer and comes shuddering and grunting, pouring himself into her in pulsing waves of ecstasy. He gradually slows, straining out the last drops until he is empty and collapses into her arms. He smiles at her, his fierce demon lover, and she grins broadly back at him, his blood still wet on her lips.


End file.
